One Obvious, Tiny, Little Baby Hiccup
by RZZMG
Summary: One desperate Minister running for re-election. One feisty witch who could make him the perfect wife. Who will win the battle of sexes? Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger. 2012 Dramione Couples Remix entry, based on "Love Actually" movie. Romance/Humour.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**This was my submission for the 2012 DRAMIONE REMIX COUPLES FEST (dramione-remix . livejournal . com). Here was the prompt I worked from:**

_Original Couple/Prompt: Prime Minister David & Natalie from "Love Actually"_

**To Unseenlibrarian: Thank you once more for helping to beta this piece! I am so thankful to have you as a friend!**

**Thank you to the Dramione Couples Remix Mods for agreeing to run a 2nd Remix! This has been fun this time around, too!**

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**DISCLAIMER:**"Harry Potter" is the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing (UK), Arthur A. Levine Books (US), and Warner Bros. "Love Actually" is the property of Universal Pictures, Studio Canal, Working Title Films, and DNA Films. This fanfic was written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**TIMELINE:** Post-war, Epilogue? What Epilogue? (2012)

**CHARACTERS FEATURED (alphabetical order, last name):** Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Blaise Zabini

**SUMMARY:**As Minister of Magic, Draco Malfoy has determined that he needs a trophy wife – someone of a solid reputation and a conservative balance - to give him respectability during his re-election campaign. Lucky for him, after a baker's dozen years of burning her candle at both ends, Hermione Granger has left her well-established job as the key aide to the Supreme Mugwump of the I.C.W. in Switzerland to settle for a nice, quiet job within the M.L.E. in Britain as a law librarian. With her stellar reputation, if Granger becomes his go-to girl, Draco can rally in enough votes to win. She, however, has her own agenda... starting with revamping the archaic gender-discriminatory laws in England!

**EXTRA:** I.C.W. = International Confederation of Wizards. M.L.E. = Magical Law Enforcement.

**RATING/WARNINGS:** PG-13/T (Mild profanity, Character bashing (Ron, Astoria)

****IMAGES for this fanfic** can be found by going here (remove all spaces from the URL to make it load properly): _**http:/ / s905 . photobucket . com / albums / ac260 / RZZMG / One%20Obvious /**_

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_**ONE OBVIOUS, TINY, LITTLE BABY HICCUP**_

**BY RZZMG**

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_**February, 2012**_

Draco nursed his Firewhisky with an eye for caution. After all, it wouldn't do for the Minister of Magic to be caught sauced before noon on a Monday in his office, especially when he was getting absolutely no work done during that time. The negative press alone from such a scandal would give his despised political rival, that fat bastard, Rattlebag, even more fodder to use against at him.

Honestly, the last thing Draco needed to worry about right then was another dip in his popularity. The election for his post might not be until September, but at only seven and a half months out, he was down by thirteen points in the polls, according to Blaise. That didn't bode well for him keeping his job.

"So, I have an idea," his Vice-Minister stated, standing up and heading to the alcohol caddy to refill his glass.

Given their long, well-celebrated friendship together, Draco knew that any time Zabini started a sentence with those infamous words, eventually he would end up suffering a migraine headache. He also knew that the idea would be brilliant and save his arse, so for that reason, he dared to ask, "Oh?"

Blaise finished pouring a new topper of Firewhisky for himself, took a big gulp, and then turned to grin at him. "You can turn this dismal re-election campaign of yours right around by pandering to the Conservatives a bit and getting married to a proper witch."

A slight pounding began behind Draco's left eye as his blood pressure shot up ten notches. "Is that so?"

Zabini raised his glass to him in toast and declared in an imperious tone, "Yes, that is so." He took another big swig.

Pinching the bridge of his nose didn't seem to alleviate the growing pain between Draco's eyes. He was going to have to take one of those foul-tasting potions again. "Right, so you've been talking to my parents' portrait again, haven't you?"

It was so obvious that he didn't even need to look up to know Blaise was cheerfully nodding. "Of course. Lucius has been an invaluable resource at the game we play, and your mother knows you better than you know yourself."

Draco snorted. "I'm sure. My father could run circles around us both… if he had the legs to do it." He chuckled at his own twisted joke.

From behind him, on the far wall, he heard a polite but loud clearing of the throat. "Pardon us, but did we interrupt?"

Glancing over his shoulder at Lucius' moving picture, Draco raised his glass to the living homage of his dead father. Obviously, the man had come all the way over from his matching frame at Malfoy Manor and waited, silently, for just this moment to interject his two Knuts. "You always interrupt, Father. I'll forgive you one more time, though."

One golden eyebrow arched and his patriarch stared down his nose at him as only Lucius Malfoy could do. "Indeed." His gaze narrowed in on the glass in his son's hand. "Drinking to commemorate your impending engagement, I presume?"

He grimaced. "Not precisely…"

"I was just letting him in on the plan," Blaise interjected, walking over and slapping a friendly hand onto Draco's shoulder. "Our boy here doesn't seem too enthusiastic about the idea, though."

"Oh, but Draco," his meddling mother scolded, stepping into the portrait from the left, "you know you must marry and soon. You're not getting any younger, and the choicest of selections have already been taken. As it is, you're left with the dregs." She made a face. "Such as that Greengrass cow."

"Astoria's not _that_ bad," Draco protested, but realized the lie even as it passed his lips. Yes, his on again-off again girlfriend for the past decade really was _that_bad – maybe even worse. She was a flagrant cheater (hence the reason they were off-again so often), had less sense than the bovine she'd been compared to, and enjoyed spending vast amounts of his money on frivolous things with entirely too much glee for his tastes.

"She's not that great either," Narcissa pointed out. "Even that Parkinson girl had more sense in her head. Why don't you marry her?"

"Sorry, Mrs. M, but Pansy's spoken for," Blaise explained. "She married that Krum fellow two years ago. They're so happy in love it's enough to make a fellow want to vomit."

Draco wisely said nothing, knowing how sensitive his best friend was to mentions of the loss of the only woman he'd ever loved. Yeah, he had only himself to blame – the 'Italian Stallion' had a need to sample everything on two legs to the point where it was almost an addiction – but that didn't mean he needed such a fact rubbed in.

"Oh, well, that's too bad," his mother stated, not having any knowledge of that nasty rumour, since she'd been dead going on four years now. "Still, Draco, you may have missed out on the cream of the crop by waiting so long, but there must be one or two witches about worth your notice. If one of them can enhance your political reputation, you should definitely pursue."

"I agree with your mother," Lucius chimed in. "You must find a match worthy of the Malfoy inheritance, and whose reputation is untarnished by public scandal. Glamour charms, comportment coaches, and fashion consultants can improve any negative physical issues, such as poor features, bad posture, and wardrobe disasters, so try not to get too bogged down with how unpleasing she may appear to the eye at first glance, my son. The most important detail you need to focus on is that she _must_be intelligent and wise - a necessary combination. Otherwise, she can't be taught proper social conduct and manners and each time she opens her mouth, you'll look the fool."

Draco sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't be enough for you if she were simply a generous person with a good heart who cares for me?"

His father quirked the same eyebrow as before, looking at him as if he'd made a joke in poor taste. His mother mirrored the expression.

"No, of course not," he drolly replied, rolling his eyes.

Hard pressed to come up with a suitable selection from the women he knew, Draco felt as if this might be the one Zabini scheme that was doomed to failure.

If only the man could provide him with a good alternative to Astoria! If not, he'd have to saddle himself with the dull female – a prospect he was not looking forward to, since the woman lacked compassion, wasn't his intellectual match, had overly-expensive tastes, and wasn't that good in bed, honestly. In a nutshell, he was loath to even consider her for the position of 'wife,' because Malfoys didn't divorce. Unlike his father, he did not intend to cheat on the woman he married, either.

Yet, the idea of being chained to Tori for the rest of his life made him fairly queasy.

He'd do it if he had to, though. If there was no other choice…

At thirty-one years of age he had finally come to understand his father's lust for power. From his current seat, he could literally change the world on his whim, both Muggle and wizarding alike. One word, one handshake and he made policy that had legal ramifications for thousands – and not just human, but Goblin, House-elf, Centaur, _et cetera_.

But first he had to convince the voters that he deserved The Chair. His behaviour during the war was still regularly called into question by the press; he was the incumbent only because his predecessor, who had been his running mate, had died in a freak Splinching accident after being in office for only a year. Added to this was the fact that, since becoming Minister, his policies hadn't set well with the more staunchly conservative purebloods who continued to espouse antiquated values. All in all, Draco was facing a steep uphill battle to remain in power.

Thankfully, appointing Blaise as his Vice-Minister had gone a long way to keep Draco popular with the younger crowd, as the man's charisma was off the charts. The man knew just what to say and do to win over the under-forty vote. He'd also helped smooth over many of the disagreements that Draco had had over the last several years with visiting dignitaries, having learned a lesson or two in diplomacy from his web-spinning, black-hearted mother.

Still, he knew Blaise was right; their efforts thus far had not been enough to cajole enough of the voters to their ticket. Draco needed to do something big – something that would show he was grounded enough for the older generations to trust, and yet still romantic enough for the younger generations to coo over. Marriage to the right woman, done in the right way, could appease both groups. It might be just enough to tip the scales in his favour.

Still, Draco refused to go quietly into that dark night.

"I've got a better idea: why don't _you_marry?" he asked, pointing at his best friend. "We can showboat your whirlwind romance and fast nuptials through all the gossip rags, and I can be the staid, loyal best man who shines at your side."

Blaise openly balked. "Me, marry? Blasphemy! Go rinse your mouth out!" He sauntered over and sat in the chair across from Draco, lounging back like the slacker he was. "Besides, last I checked it wasn't me named 'Most Eligible Bachelor' by _Witch Weekly_. It's you the ladies all sigh over. You're the respectable one in this relationship."

Draco turned to his mother and father, giving them a mocking smile. "I love that word, 'relationship.' Covers all manner of sins, doesn't it?" He sighed. "Do I really have to do this?"

His father and mother both nodded. "Yes, you do," they said at the same time.

He turned to Zabini. He was nodding as well.

"Yes, you do," he concurred.

Draco let out a resigned, deep breath and stared down at his empty glass. "I'm going to need a lot more alcohol."

His best friend leaned forward in his chair and slapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, mate. I'll find you a woman worth your salt."

Somehow, Draco doubted any woman who still remained single would fit the bill.

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_**TO BE CONTINUED…**_

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**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**Please review!**

******This is only Chapter 1 of a multi-part story here. The story was presented as finished with a cliffie during the festival, but I'm going to finish it here for you all. I will also put it up a chapter every 4-5 days to give you time to read and review each chapter.**


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione was vexed.

"What do you mean we can't date anymore because work won't allow it?" she demanded, putting her fork down next to her plate and dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard, Ron. Since when can the Ministry decide such a thing?"

Being both single and still somewhat attracted to each other despite the years, she and her ex had decided to give it another go after she'd returned to England last month, having resigned from her post as key aide to the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards after thirteen years of long, hard service. Since coming back to London from Geneva, they'd hooked back up, and Hermione had really been hoping that their timing was finally, _finally _right. After all, it had only taken them three starts and stops to get to this point.

And now Ron was breaking it off with her – again.

This time, though, it had nothing to do with another woman, or his mother's constant interference in their relationship, or even his want to have children when she wasn't ready. This time, it was because of the one thing that she'd finally decided shouldn't hold as prominent and overruling a place in her life as it previously had: her work.

"It's like I said," he explained in that apologetic whine for which he was famous, "Vice-Minister Zabini came to me and said that the rules of fraternization didn't allow two people to date or be married who worked in the same Department. If you went back to Magical Creatures –"

"I'm not going back there ever again," she firmly stated, picking up her wine glass and twirling the stem between her fingers. The dark cherry-colour of the Montepulciano d'Abruzzo that she'd splurged on reflected the candlelight as if it were made of glittering rubies. "You know how ineffectual that position was the first time I tried it. The law is the only part of government where real progress is made for establishing fundamental rights. Everything else is just a lot of paper-pushing."

He sighed. "I know, but… 'Mione, we _can't _work together. They're gonna fire one of us for breaking the rules - and we both know you're a stickler for the rules. So, either one of us leaves M.L.E., or…"

He left the thought hanging, clearly expecting her to make the big sacrifice - as if he could manipulate her by playing such a card. She'd spent the last dozen-plus years swimming through the international political sphere, dodging much better sharks than Ron Weasley.

She glanced at him over the rim of her wine glass as she brought it to her mouth. "So, why don't you change careers? You've been going on for the last couple of weeks that you were getting too tired for fieldwork, especially now that Harry's accepted the position of Head Auror. Why not try for that job in International Games that just opened up? At least then you'd get to go to every Quidditch match you wanted without having to buy a ticket."

Ron shuffled his ravioli around on his plate, clearly not enthused by that idea… or interested in eating the food she'd prepared for their quiet dinner at her flat.

Didn't that just figure! She'd spent hours in the kitchen yesterday – her whole Saturday – making the pasta dough from scratch from a recipe book she'd found in this cute, little Muggle bookstore just the other week. She'd made the filling, too, using the finest ground organic chicken, the freshest chopped spinach and garlic, ground black pepper imported by the specialty Indian market around the corner from her flat, and the sharpest Asiago cheese in all of London. She'd hand-cooked the marinara sauce, too – no jars or cans involved! She'd done it all because she wanted them to start over right. She'd hoped to impress upon him that she could be just as domestic as he seemed to want the woman he finally took as a wife to be.

She should have known he wouldn't appreciate it. Ron always took everything for granted, especially where she was concerned. Besides, cooking may be a new hobby of hers, but she shouldn't have to coax affection from a loved one through her skills in the kitchen. She also should have known she should never have attempted to change herself for a man – especially _this _man, who had a known track record for taking much more from a relationship than what he put into it. What had she been thinking?

She'd been thinking that the idea of building a life together with someone of merit – rather than focusing all her energies on a dried-up career and living in a perpetually cold, solo-flying bed - was attractive. And, honestly, she'd been hoping for the passion of romance to balance out the loss of her previous career's excitement in her life. As an adrenaline junkie, she missed the fire of debate and the thrill of chasing down votes, even if such things were dangerous to her health, according to her Healer. Coming home to someone who loved her with an equal enthusiasm, instead - someone with whom she could talk to about important things and share her love of new hobbies, rather than living in an empty, quiet house now that Crooks was gone - had serious appeal.

That dream _still _appealed.

Maybe there was some way to salvage this mess with Ron. Sighing, she took a compromising route. "I'll take a look at this law Zabini's pulled out of his pocket –"

"His arse, more like," Ron grumbled.

She hated to be interrupted. It was one of her biggest peeves, and he knew it.

Taking a calming breath, she tried again. "I'll look at the law. There has to be a way around it. Nothing that ridiculous could possibly still be on the books, if it ever was."

Through the fringe of his stunted, crimson-black lashes, Ron stared at her with those baby blues she'd once fallen head-over-heels for. "Yeah, good idea."

He didn't sound very stirred by the fact that she was willing to overlook his misogynistic assumption that she – the female - should be the one giving up the important things for a relationship to work. But then, he'd been raised with that kind of backwater thinking, and his mum was no hard-core feminist role model, was she?

Maybe the fourth time wasn't the charm either, she resignedly thought. Perhaps this was the final straw – her big neon sign in the sky, as it were. She and Ron were incompatible on too many levels to make a long-term commitment work. They simply looked at the world through different lenses.

Still, she intended on researching that law he'd mentioned, as it seemed highly improbable to her that such a ludicrous rule should exist. Blaise Zabini had never been the honest type back in school, and his elevation to a position of great importance in the wizarding realm when Draco had named him as Vice-Minister hadn't seemed to change that fact.

"Eat your supper, Ron," she directed, putting her glass down, and picking up her fork and knife. "It wouldn't do for us to waste such a splendid meal." Their last one together as a couple, she knew, though it would do no good to voice such a thing, as it would only spoil both of their appetites.

She'd let them enjoy their meal together in this manner, and give it a bit to digest. Then, she'd let him down easy. It seemed that's what he really wanted anyway.

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_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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**Author's Note:**

**Please review!**

.

**Chapter 3 preview:**

_"You can relax. I've found you a wife."_

_"Oh, no. That is so inconvenient."_

_"I think it's brilliant. It's stellar, really. Uh, that is, apart from the one obvious, tiny, little, baby hiccup. You see…"_


	3. Chapter 3

Draco paced back and forth before the magically lit hearth in his office on the first floor of the Ministry and sipped furiously from the crystal glass filled with the finest Hebredian Black Firewhisky money could buy.

Damn Zabini! If only he could perform an undetectable _Legilimens _on his Vice-Minister…

His best friend's note had been annoyingly cryptic about having a possible solution to Draco's little problem of finding an appropriate witch for a wife. _"She's one you can hang on your arm before the press with pride and confidence,"_ the man had boasted. _"If nothing else, at least she'll boost your points in the polls." _

Better well bleedin' do since he was giving up his well-loved bachelorhood in the exchange! Draco needed the respectable front that riding the "family values" tag could provide if he was to win the upcoming election in September. And oh, did he want to win!

As usual, Zabini didn't knock on his door to announce his presence. The man simply strolled in as if he belonged. With a wave of his wand, Draco shut the door behind him.

"You can relax," Blaise announced with great fanfare as he threw his backside down in one of the cozy chairs by the fire, "I've found you a wife."

Draco went to the alcohol caddy and poured a drink for Blaise, refilling his own glass at the same time. He crossed the room and passed off the Firewhisky to his mate. "So you said. Who is she and why should I consider her?"

His companion swallowed back a good mouthful of his drink. "She's got a solid reputation as a war heroine, knows how to play politics with the best of them, can intellectually leave the entire Ministry in the dust, is a good blending of social liberalism and fiscal conservativism, has never been married, and best of all, neither of us have slept with her."

In a flash, Draco went down the list of possibilities. "Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, or other?"

"Hogwarts."

The list shrunk. "Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor?"

Blaise finished off his drink, holding it out for more. "Gryffindor."

The list perceptibly narrowed again. Based on Zabini's description, he was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly whom his best friend had picked out for him. He had heard the rumours that a certain know-it-all witch from his childhood had just recently returned to England from the I.C.W. headquarters in Geneva, where she'd taken the place by storm for a dozen years, only to end up accepting a quiet position within the London M.L.E. office as a law librarian for some unfathomable reason.

"Age?" he asked, ignoring the unspoken request by his Vice-Minister's outstretched hand for more booze.

Zabini grinned up at him and shook his glass. "Thirty-two, to be exact."

A Gryffindor he hadn't slept with, who had been in his class or a year older, was smarter than most of the Unspeakables he employed, and a war heroine. Only one witch fit the bill.

"There is no way you'll ever convince Hermione Granger to marry me," he stated with all assuredness. "Hell, there's no way I'd _want _to marry her. She's insufferable. Not even the Weasel King wanted her, and that was back when she was younger, tighter, and undoubtedly prettier."

"Actually, they've made four attempts over the years," Blaise corrected him, standing and making his way to the alcohol tray on his own, "with the most recent breakup – and final, if I heard the office rumours right – having occurred just this last Saturday night." He poured himself a double, turned, and saluted Draco with his glass. "You're free and clear to woo her to your heart's content, mate."

Draco shook his head. "You've really gone 'round the bend this time, Blaise. There is no way that woman would willingly come within a hundred feet of me."

Just as the last word left his mouth his door was flung open by a rather strong _Alohamora_. The spell had so much power behind it that it blew the portal wide, slamming it into the wall. In the gaping doorway stood one fully developed, surprisingly attractive, and wrathfully furious Hermione Granger.

Yes, it was definitely her. She may have finally figured out how to tame that mop on her head using Sleekeazy's, but there was simply no mistaking those amber-brown eyes when they were filled with furious fire, as they were now. Draco had been on the receiving end of that exact same stare for seven whole years of his youth, so there was no way he _wouldn't _recognize it when presented with it again, regardless of time's passing.

His heart did a little queer pitter-patter thing in his chest. It was a feeling he'd only known one other time in his life: right after he'd been smacked hard across the jaw in third year by a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor princess.

"Oh, no. That is so inconvenient," he mumbled to himself.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Blaise asked with a cheeky grin, clearly having heard.

Draco scowled at him.

"Malfoy, we need to talk," the irate witch in his doorway seethed, her fingertips crackling with red electrical sparks as she kept a tight grip on her wand. Her gaze narrowed on Blaise. "Zabini, get out. NOW."

Holy. Shite.

There is no way Draco should have found such behaviour from a woman hot, as he was a clear Dominant in the bedroom and he preferred his women submissive, but he was suddenly sporting some serious wood in the face of Granger's anger.

Of course, that might be because she was a bit rumpled and out of breath, as if she'd run all the way around the Ministry in that tight, pin-striped pencil skirt and in those eye-catching black heels to get to him. Her chest was heaving under the matching, unbuttoned business jacket, her cheeks were pinked, and her nipples – clearly visible through the thin fabric of her white, silk blouse – were hard, tight points that any man would find impossible to ignore. With her hair up in a coiffed French twist, and her lips bare of gloss, she was the living, walking dichotomy: the conservative with the wild streak.

Salazar's bollocks, Blaise was absolutely right! Granger was the answer to all his political prayers, wasn't she? She appealed to both the liberals as well as to the conservatives.

Hell, everyone loved and respected the witch, not only because of her role during the war, but because of the changes she'd helped to oversee in the international wizarding arena. Draco had followed the politics in the I.C.W. since becoming Vice-Minister, and then Minister, and knew that Hermione Granger was known there as 'The Champion of Rights'. Although most of her propositions had been deemed too radical to accept by the main body of the I.C.W., still her efforts had garnered her respect and established precedent over the years. There were now at least a dozen new grassroots organizations that rallied for wizarding civil liberties, and environmental groups that demanded protections for endangered magical species, all at her urging.

In terms of business, she'd also fought for and won the guaranteed allocation of funds to important wizarding medical R&D projects. These included investigating the spread of lycanthropy and vampirism (both of which had mysteriously doubled in the last decade) as well as the increasing rate of Squibdom and infertility in the pureblood families due to centuries of inbreeding. As a result, new corporations had been formed to tackle the mandate of developing treatment therapies. The flush of government monies into the industry had made many people very rich, and gave hope to the magical world overall.

All of those achievements had been possible in only a few short years because this witch – the one with her wand pointed rather menacingly at him at the moment - had stepped up to the podium and shoved the issues to the forefront of political debate. She was definitely a force to be reckoned with on both sides of the aisle.

Then there was the issue of her physical beauty. As he took her in from toes to the tip of her nose, he realized that she'd grown up - and from where he was standing, the change had been a rather positive one. She'd obviously gotten wise to fashion, discovered cosmetics, and tamed that gods-awful hair of hers. The scrawny, bony body she'd sported back in school had developed a series of delicious curves with age, too. And those legs…!

"Blaise, please excuse us," he made his apologies to his friend, turning to pour a fresh drink into a clean glass for his new guest. "And close the door on your way out, if you don't mind."

He could feel Zabini's interest and amusement without having to look at the man's smug face. His best friend knew him too well. "Sure. Catch you later." He turned to watch his former roommate in Slytherin saunter towards the exit, give a chivalrous tip of his head towards Granger in passing as she stepped into the room, and move past her into the hall. He threw Draco a wink for luck as he shut the door behind him.

"Drink?" he asked.

Her anger greatly reduced from a moment ago, the crackling-pop of magic around her dissipated. In a cultured move, she straightened her jacket and re-buttoned it, clearing her throat. "Please."

He picked up the glass he'd prepared for her, crossed the room, and held it out for her to take. She did, and she tossed it back in one go, much to his surprise. "I didn't know someone as uptight as you was partial to the hard sauce, Granger, especially before noon. Things change that much over the last dozen years?"

She made a curious face as she swallowed, as if she was sampling something she'd expected to be awful, but it turned out to be quite acceptable instead. "I'm _not_ partial to such things, and I'm _not _uptight. I'm charging up the big guns so I can let you have it with both barrels blazing."

Draco raised an eyebrow at that. "Muggle saying?"

She nodded. "It means -"

He held up his hands. "I quite understand. I do know what a gun is, in all its crudity. I'm not that ignorant of Muggle culture. It looked to me as if you had enough brass before the drink, though."

She handed him the empty glass. "Yes, well, you're not going to like what I have to say." She put one hand on a lovely hip and affected a pose that said she would not be turned away.

"So I've gathered." He grinned, took a gulp of his own Firewhisky, and walked around his desk. "Please, have a seat." He indicated one of the chairs across from him and waited for her to plant her bum before doing likewise.

Placing the empty drink glasses to the side, he folded his hands on top of his desk and looked at her as he usually did with foreign dignitaries: giving her his full attention by slightly leaning forward as if to catch every word, his expression set with pretend interest.

"Now, I'm very busy and important. How can I help you?"

She bristled at his intentional light-heartedness, sitting up straighter in her chair and giving him a prim frown. "Did you know, Minister Malfoy, that you head of one of the most discriminatory governmental agencies in the free world? Do you realize how many laws are still on the books that affect a woman's right to a safe work environment? Do you even realize how many gender-based regulations and statutes negatively impact witches in Britain?"

Ah, she wanted to lodge a formal complaint. Obviously, this issue was of great importance to her, too, as she'd come right to the top to do it. Already he had his 'in'.

"Can't say that I do, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."

She did – in painful length. Draco gave her the party nod throughout her long-winded explanation, paying particularly close attention to the issues that seemed to mean the most to her, as her voice would rise and her words would fly during such topics.

To his great relief, after only an hour of listening to her whinge on – which unfortunately included being forced to endure a long bulleted list of pertinent talk points - Granger finally began to wind down. "In conclusion, I must strenuously request that you exercise your prerogative powers to issue a Ministerial Proclamation overturning these archaic laws," she stated.

Reaching into a small beaded bag that she pulled from the sleeve of her jacket, she stuck her hand into the purse, rifled around, and withdrew a thick stack of neatly bound papers. "I've taken the liberty of outlining the pertinent statutes in this report for you, and included the proper procedure and language necessary to rescind said legislation." She handed the summary over to him, and then sat back in her chair, looking infinitely pleased with herself.

Draco opened the report and scanned through the first three or four pages while he made her sit there, basking in her assumed triumph. When he felt her ego had reached a state where squeezing out of the door might be a problem, he pounced.

Giving her his most amicable smile, he said, "I think it's brilliant. It's stellar, really."

His opponent smiled back, believing from his words that she'd actually won this round.

With a dramatic wince, though, he set about dashing her pretentiousness. "Uh, that is, apart from the one obvious, tiny, little, baby hiccup. You see…" – he plastered an apologetic expression upon his features – "you've given me absolutely no incentive to do as you ask, Granger."

Her smile fell in a heartbeat. A second after that, her face flushed an uncomely shade of raspberry.

"What did you say?" she asked in a low, threatening voice.

Draco closed the cover on her report and stood up, leaning his palms on the desk as he stared her down with a serpentine smirk.

"Here's the thing, _Hermione,_" he stressed her first name to throw her off balance, "I'm not one to cave to intimidation tactics, which is clearly what you've done here. In fact," he cut her off, holding up a finger to stop her as she opened her mouth, "the manner in which you barged in here, demanding my attention could be interpreted as a hostage-taking situation, if I chose to see it as such. You've spent the last hour and," – he looked up at the magically-wound clock above his door – "nine minutes dictating policy to me under a form of duress. I allowed it, however, out of respect for your reputation. I listened to every word. Truthfully, I have given you more of my attention today than I have given foreign dignitaries over the last year. For that alone, you owe me some form of compensation."

Her eyes widened with incredulity and her lips pulled back in a feral snarl. She shot to her feet, wand in her hand, energy crackling from her fingertips again. "How _dare_ you! You despicable, dog-hearted scoundrel! After spending all this time discussing the different forms of gender-based harassment around this place… Ooh! You would dare to offer a trade of sexual favours for doing your moral civic duty - and with _me _of all people - the witch who's been dying for an excuse to kick your arse since we were children?"

A wicked smile worked its way up his cheek. "Why, Granger, I don't recall saying anything about trading sexual favours."

She pointed her wand at him. "You implied it, you villainous boar!"

"Did I?" he asked, feeling his mirth bubble up from within. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed locking horns with this particular shrew. "And you suddenly know how my mind works how?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I spent six years of my young life on the receiving end of your most vile taunting. I think that more than qualifies me to know what kind of person you are, Malfoy."

He came around the desk, respectfully wary of the wand in her hand, and leaned against it on the other side, adopting a casual, unthreatening pose. "Really, Granger, haven't we grown up and gotten past that yet? Would it help if I apologized for tormenting you and your friends during a period when I acted the rotten, spoiled bastard?"

He had to throw her some sort of bone, after all, and if doing so caused her to lower her arm then it was cheers all around.

Bowing his head, he gave her his best puppy-dog expression, having practiced and honed the look over the years to placate his mother when the occasion called. "I humbly beg your forgiveness for being a cold-hearted, runty little pip during our school days, Ms. Granger."

Her dark eyes widened, and in them, he noted glints of gold around the irises. Funny, he'd never noticed how sparkling her eyes truly were.

She lowered her wand and Draco let out the breath he'd been holding. "You're not having me on, are you?" she asked.

"No, I'm not," he reassured her, sincere this time. "That was an apology a long time in coming."

It wasn't enough, and he knew it - not by a long shot. He owed this woman much more than words. She'd endured a lot of suffering in her life, most of it caused by him and his twisted family.

Maybe, though, she'd give him a chance to make it up to her.

The prospect of _that _opportunity had him silently thanking his tailor for having the forethought to design his clothing to hide certain embarrassing bodily reactions by weaving specific Disillusionment charms into his slacks.

To his astonishment, at some point between this witch's dramatic entrance and this particular moment, Draco realized he'd fallen under the charms of the adult-version of Hermione Granger. Although it pained him to admit it, he'd been completely wrong about her. She was incredibly well-spoken, well groomed, and as arrogant and ambitious as he, with more spark than a firecracker. Plus, she was hotter than Hell, especially when she was angry.

He was going to owe Blaise something big this time.

Granger dropped down into her seat, staring up at him in dazed confusion. "You… I…"

He gave her his most reassuring smile. "Is it so hard for you accept that over the last decade I've changed, Ms. Granger? Surely, if the people of Wizarding Britain could vote for the former Minister with me attached to his ticket, then there must be some belief in the idea that my black heart had been redeemed, wouldn't you think?"

"I… I suppose," she hesitantly answered, dropping her eyes to her lap. "I'll admit that perhaps I've not being completely fair in my assumptions where you're concerned. I apologize for that."

Like butter left in the sun too long, he'd softened her up. Now he had her exactly where he wanted her. "Let's agree to let bygones be bygones, then, and start fresh, shall we?" He held his hand out to her to shake. "It's been a pleasure to speak with you this afternoon, Ms. Granger. Your presentation was most enlightening, and I promise to take your concerns under very serious consideration."

She stared at his hand for long seconds, and then her head tilted back to meet his gaze. Cautiously, she extended her hand to meet his. "Thank you." She cleared her throat, and instantly, her demeanor changed to that of the professional. "Yes, thank you, Minister." She stood, still shaking his hand. "I appreciate your time and attention."

When she made to withdraw, he held on a bit longer, standing to his full height and stepping in a bit – not enough to crowd or to make the appearance of impropriety, but enough to make her sweat. "My pleasure."

She blinked, taken aback by his unexpected move, and promptly removed her hand from his, stepping around her chair. "Yes, well, I'll make an appointment with your secretary next time."

"I should have an answer for you by Friday afternoon, if you'd like to see what's available then," he suggested, knowing his secretary purposefully cleared his Friday afternoons so he could make an early start to weekend plans, if he wished.

"Friday is fine for me, any time after one. I'll see you then. Good day to you," she stated in a crisp tone, and walked around her chair and out the door.

He'd seen the blush in her cheeks there at the end – rouged this time not in anger, but in sexual awareness. He'd felt her heart rate speed up the longer he'd clasped her hand, through the throbbing pulse under the pad of her thumb. He'd watched a thin sheen of sweat form over the top of her lip in nervous energy as she'd made to go.

The trap was set. On Friday, he'd spring it.

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_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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**Author's Notes:**

**Please review!**

**.**

**Chapter 4 preview...**

_Hermione spent the rest of that week berating her fool self for letting her guard down before Malfoy and preparing for the upcoming battle with the man._

_Humble? Just whom did that man think he was fooling? There wasn't a humble bone in any Malfoy body, living or dead. _


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione spent the rest of that week berating her fool self for letting her guard down before Malfoy and preparing for the upcoming battle with the man.

Monday afternoon, after leaving his office, she'd replayed the meeting in her head, re-examining it from all angles. Yes, Draco had seemed sincere in his apology and in his protestations that he hadn't been implying anything sexual between them. However, there at the end of their meeting, he'd totally blown his act, in her opinion. Stepping into her, holding onto her hand, giving her a warm, rich smile with the clear intent of creating intimacy between them… He'd wanted in her knickers. Any girl with any sense could see that.

Needless to say, the rest of that day had been a wash, as she'd spent it stewing in her tiny office in the law library, plotting how to best tell the young, handsome Minister that she was on to his game and wouldn't be suckered in. She'd penned note after note attempting to disabuse him of the notion that such behaviour was considered professional, much less polite. Each one had tried a different tactic and tone to get to that point across, but none of them had seemed the perfect way to drive home her point without giving the impression that she'd been reprimanding, boasting, or worse, sounding as uptight as he'd accused her of being. Her wastebasket had been filled with crumpled-up paper as a result, and by five o'clock, nothing had been sent to the man. She'd gone home in disgust at that point, sleeping on the problem.

Tuesday, she'd decided to skip her attempt to be Malfoy's moral compass, and instead had railed at the ugly fact that he'd been playing her for a jape all along. Pretending to be legitimately interested in her grievances and apologetic for his past behaviour had clearly been a sham to temper her anger and win her over. The rotten weasel!

That's why, at one-thirty that afternoon she'd patently ignored his Interdepartmental Note that scratched and sniffed around her door. Only when the blasted thing's whimpering got on her last nerve had she finally relented and let it in her office.

.

_Good afternoon Ms. Granger,_

_My secretary informs me that you haven't yet had an opportunity to set-up that meeting we discussed for Friday afternoon. Seeing as how the problem of pre-existing gender-discriminatory laws is an issue of the gravest importance to my administration, I've taken the initiative and booked an appointment with your supervisor to come down to your office instead around one-thirty in the afternoon. I hope you won't think that too forward, but this issue is, as you pointed out on Monday, of the utmost importance and needs immediate redress._

_Looking forward to our discussion on Friday,_

_Draco Malfoy, Your Humble Minister of Magic_

_._

Humble? Just whom did that man think he was fooling? There wasn't a humble bone in any Malfoy body, living or dead. The whole lot of them were born and bred to believe themselves superior to the masses. They spoon-fed conceit to their children with their breakfast cereals, for Merlin's sake!

Feeling her blood pressure rise to dangerous levels and a persistent throbbing begin behind her left eye, Hermione had made an executive decision at that point: she'd locked the door to her office, transfigured a chair into a chaise lounge, dimmed the lights, and spent the rest of the afternoon trying to recoup from the migraine from Hell. She'd justified the medical rest as necessary to her health, and alleviated any guilt she might have felt about literally lying down on the job with the firm mental reminder that since her appointment in her current position, she'd worked an average of fifty-seven hours a week.

A day later, Hermione had been feeling much better about the situation, and had been actually looking forward to locking horns with Malfoy. She'd missed the great debates of Geneva's arena; months of taking her Healer's advice and toning her life down had left her in a funk, craving the non-stop, wheeling and dealing on the international political scene. Wednesday, though, she'd felt bout of productivity, and in only four hours had caught up with all of her work from the previous missed day, as well as finished all of her work for that day. She'd spent the rest of the afternoon pouring through old law books, finding every instance of gender-discrimination and noting it with a Dictation Quill.

On Thursday, armed with an entire stack of pertinent notes and a well-prepared cheat sheet for debate, she'd had an opportunity to relax and mull over how she intended on physically preparing for the conversation with the Minister. In her mind, she'd picked an appropriate outfit, and fixed her hair and make-up so that she'd make the most professional of impressions. She'd even decided to put on her Muggle glasses, rather than wear the contacts she always preferred, believing they would lend her a more credible air.

It was with some amusement that she played again over the idea that _Draco Malfoy_ had behaved so flirtatiously with the likes of _her_ on Monday. That from the man who had once professed to despise any witch of less than pure-blood descent. There was plenty of comedy to be found in that irony.

That night, she debated over the merits of heels versus flats to wear with her outfit the next day.

Now, here it was Friday, and she was tapping her fingernails on her desk, fully prepared and waiting, watching the magical clock on the far wall. Was it her imagination or hadn't the hands shown it to be thirty-eight minutes past twelve more than five minutes ago?

Blast, but where was the man?

Another of her greatest peeves was having nothing to do. Watching the seconds tick by was the worst kind of torture, as far as Hermione was concerned. She needed to keep busy. She should tidy up that corner of her office over there while she waited…

_No_, she sharply reprimanded herself. She would was just going to sit here and try to keep her heart rate calm. She would take these minutes to enjoy the peace and quiet around her, and to re-centre her mental and physical energies. Her Healer had been crystal clear that she couldn't afford another episode like the one she'd suffered months ago. He'd cautioned her to take life slower. Her Muggle therapist had concurred. In fact, they had both insisted that she learn to unwind and stop trying to control everything around her. Her compulsive need to constantly show some sort of achievement (even one as small as neatening a corner of her office) was, in the words of her psychiatrist, "overly-ambitious" and "a destructive behaviour".

So, no cleaning, no de-cluttering, and _definitely_ no organizing for her. She was just going to sit here, with her eyes closed and focus on every breath, picturing the soothing image of ocean waves rolling over and retreating from a white sand beach.

The beach scene in her head reminded her of the pictures she'd seen of Maui. That's where she would go someday for a honeymoon… if she could ever find a fellow to fit the bill.

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_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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**Author's Notes:**

**Short chapter this time, but filled with some sneaky plot bunny. Please review!**


	5. Chapter 5

Draco squirmed with impatience, as the clock in his office struck one.

"Steady on," Blaise chastised him as he finished knotting his boss' tie. "You're jumpier than a Vampire in a garlic field." He gave the accessory a final adjusting yank, and then smoothed it down properly. "You'll charm your witch's knickers right off that curvy, sweet arse of hers, so stop worrying."

His Vice-Minister's words gave Draco only a moment's pause. "You know you're a lecherous sod, right?"

Zabini grinned, but didn't bother replying to the accusation that they both knew rang true. "In any case, why are you so nervous? Your father and mother both told me your first meeting with Granger went smashingly, and that they approve, despite the fact she's Muggle-born. You said yourself that you think she's a good fit. And she's agreed to meet with you again – alone, in her office. What more of an opening do you need?"

He cleared his throat. "I've been investigating her some…"

A wicked gleam entered Blaise's eyes. "Polyjuice reconnaissance, hmmm? Finally, I'm rubbing off on you! So, what did you learn? What colour preference does she have for her knickers? I'm betting there are no lacy thongs in her drawer."

Draco glared at him. "Be serious."

"White and pink cotton then, but nothing too skanky. Figures." Zabini sighed with disappointment. "Does she at least have something in a leopard print in her closet – maybe way in the back, hidden?"

"Would you shut it and let me talk?" Draco demanded, slapping Blaise up side the head. "I haven't used anything as juvenile as Polyjuice on myself, especially not to infiltrate her wardrobe."

His companion gave him a knowing smirk and crossed his arms. "So who did you pretend to be by owled note, then? Someone from upper administration running a background check?"

"A reporter from _Witch Weekly_, actually," Draco admitted. "I Transfigured my Eagle owl to look just like one of their specially bred Barn owls, and hit it with an Untraceable Charm for good measure."

"Clever," his friend nodded to him in praise. "Convince them the messenger is legit, and _voila! _Unlimited access to information supplied by the gullible and ignorant. Target Weasley then, did you?"

"Potter."

"Ah. And he actually bought it?"

Beaming with arrogant triumph, Draco turned to his coat closet, flipped it open, and took a final look in the floor-to-ceiling mirror that hung on the backside of the door. He brushed down his robes to remove visible specks of lint and neatened his hair one more time. "Of course he did. Hook, line, and sinker."

"We need to hire a new Head Auror," Zabini deadpanned.

"You know, it pains me to admit this, Blaise, but she's grown into quite an extraordinary witch since our school days," he acknowledged, losing a bit of his haughtiness. He fiddled some more with his hair on the left side, not liking the way it lay. "She brought the assemblage to heel in Geneva for a dozen years, and accomplished more than the last four Ministers here in England combined - and she did it all without compromising her integrity. At least, that's what Potter maintained. Flint backed that up when I owled him for confirmation."

"How is our Ambassador to Eastern Europe, anyway? Is Marcus enjoying the finer points of Balkan hospitality?" his companion asked with a wicked snicker.

Draco shrugged. "No doubt. He maintained that there was no dirt to be found on Granger when they'd worked together at the I.C.W. She's as squeaky clean as her teeth. No uncovered attempts at blackmail, no bribery, no using sex as a weapon, no scandals of any kind." He shook his head in amazement. "I still can't figure how she did it all without resorting to such things."

Zabini went to the alcohol caddy and poured himself a drink. "Well, she's always been bright, and she _was _overly ambitious even at Hogwarts. It seems she's added cunning and subtle manipulation to her repertoire as well."

"But only insofar as it pertains to moral obligations to the underdogs in society – never for personal gain," Draco inserted.

His best friend gave him a knowing smirk. "Yes, well, she already has _you _seriously considering championing her ideas, not to mention fidgeting in front of your mirror like a peacock in heat, and you only spoke for an hour or so the other day. Did you even notice?" He raised his glass to toast her honour. "A Gryffindor with a Slytherin's sensibilities. I predict you'll fall in love with her within a month." He turned and grinned from ear-to-ear at Draco. "You're doomed, mate."

Draco sighed, fearing there may be some serious truth to his friend's contention. Granger was exactly everything he could want in a wife; she had even grown into her looks. Her blood status wasn't an issue in this case, given the perfection of the rest. Besides, his mum had raved on about her after their meeting, and his father had grudgingly admitted that she was a viable candidate given her political connections and her record. She'd passed the 'parent test,' as well as the 'best friend test'. What more could he ask for?

He checked the clock; it was fifteen past.

"Right, so, I'm going now," he announced, closing his closet door and gathering his valise from the desk. As he opened the door out, he turned to his Vice-Minister with all sincerity. "If I don't make it back, The Chair's all yours, and good luck with it."

"If you don't make it back," Zabini teased, "I'll marry Granger myself. We'll honeymoon in Maui and sip fruity drinks while thinking fondly of you."

Draco shot him a parting two-fingered salute, and closed the door to Blaise's laughter.

Maui. Right.

He'd never been, but damn, the thought of honeymooning with a bikini-clad Granger on white sandy beaches overlooking the Pacific Ocean sounded really good to Draco just then.

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_**TO BE CONTINUED...**_

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**Author's Notes:**

**Another shorter chapter… we're one chapter away from the face-off. What do you think will happen? **

**Please review!**


	6. Chapter 6

When the face of Draco Malfoy appeared on the reflective surface of her clock's large hand, Hermione knew he was within ten feet of her door.

_FINALLY!_

Quickly picking up a quill, she shuffled some papers around on her desk, neatly tapping them into an ordered stack. When the knock came, she tapped the papers again as she called out, "Come in."

Minister Malfoy breezed in, hair perfect and dressed to impress in expensive woolen robes dyed in flattering shades of grey. His silvery eyes popped as a result. In one hand, he carried an attaché case made of what looked to be dragon hide. "Good afternoon, Ms. Granger," he greeted, shutting the door behind him.

She tapped the papers a third time, straightening their edges, and then lay the bundle down in her OUT box – where they'd originated. "Good afternoon, Minister. Please come in and have a seat." She waved towards the empty chair in front of her desk. "Tea?"

He strolled over, and settled into the seat she'd indicated, crossing his legs and sitting back as if he owned the place. "That would be lovely."

With a simple wave of her wand and a silent charm, she had the full pot on the tray on the small side table heated. The silver tea ball within steeped a personalized blend of Lemon balm, Chamomile flowers, and St. Johns Wort – herbs guaranteed to aid in calming the nerves. She was sure that within a half-hour, they'd need all the help they could get not to kill each other.

"Lemon, honey, cream, or sugar?" she offered. "It's an herbal with citrus leanings."

He tilted his head in consideration. "Honey. A full dollop, if you would be so kind."

She nodded and lifted the ceramic lid on the small honey pot, dipping the silver demitasse spoon into its golden-amber, sticky depths.

In anticipation of today's meeting, she'd meticulously laid out the antique Coalport tea service that she'd inherited from her grandmother, wanting to impress her guest. It was one of the rarer collectibles of the series, she knew, with its real gold gilt edging and its hand-painted songbird toile design. She adored it for its beauty and for the woman who had once owned it, and only took it out on very special occasions. Malfoy probably wouldn't appreciate the meaning or the gesture, but she knew he wouldn't be able to simply ignore the fact that it was a well-kept and attractive piece.

It was, of course, a clever device intended to rip away any preconceived notions he might have about all things Muggle. It was also intended to set the tone of their discussion: refined, courteous discourse would be the mandate, for it was an unwritten law that one never spoke dreadful words over tea.

When she felt the hot beverage had steeped long enough, she poured it into each cup, stirred the honey into his, and then brought him his serving with saucer and a dainty napkin. She added cream and honey to hers, enjoying her tea to be smoother in texture – a habit she'd picked up in Geneva.

Once she was settled back into her chair behind her desk, opposite him, she waited for him to take the first sip, as was polite, and then followed suit.

Malfoy blinked in pleased surprise, looking into his cup. "Delicious."

"My own blend," she stated, trying not to sound too boastful. So far, her plan was working perfectly.

"And a lovely service in presentation," he complimented, giving her a slight nod.

She smiled over the rim of her cup at him. "My grandmother's." She took a sip, swallowed, and then placed the cup back on its matching saucer. "Shall we get down to the purpose of your visit?"

The Minister's lips twitched with amusement, and he set his own cup and saucer down on the end of her desk. "All work and no play, Granger. You know what that does to a person."

Already, he was attempting to disarm her with that charming smile, and a boyish glint in his eye. She countered that with a prim readjusting of her glasses on the bridge of her nose, looking over the square frames. "I'm on the government's clock and purse, sir. I wouldn't want to be accused of abusing the public's money with too much frivolity during established work hours."

It was an indirect slight, as she'd heard around the office how the Minister had been caught more than once playing a game of Exploding Snap with his Vice-Minister in the middle of the day while secreted in his office, and that he tended to work Muggle banking hours.

Amused by her response – or perhaps by her glasses, she couldn't tell which – Malfoy smirked. "Yes, well, we couldn't have that, could we?" He reached down and picked up his attaché case, placing it on his knees. The locks snapped open with a wave of his hand, and he raised the lid.

Hermione reached for her agenda, the stack of notes with the legal details that she'd taken down the other day, and her Dictation Quill. "I've made a list of pertinent topic points to discuss-"

"I'm sure you have," he replied, pulling out a thin, bound set of his own notes and a Dictation Quill, too. "As have I." He lowered the lid on his case, set it back on the floor at his side, and waved the Quill into life. A piece of parchment magically appeared in the air under the Quill's tip, ready to be used. Magical ink flooded the Quill's point, as well. "To be chivalrous, I'll let you go first." He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs again. "Have at it."

Taking a deep breath, she plunged in, covering the salient points of each law and how the wording needed to be changed to be gender-neutral, or in some cases, completely rescinded. Her presentation lasted an hour and twenty-three minutes.

His lasted less than half that.

Basically, she got a verbal agreement to everything she was requesting, and without the harried negotiations. Malfoy was amenable to making the work place better for women's rights, and for removing those laws by decree that threatened a woman's rights to autonomy.

"You realize, of course, I have to go through all of this with the Vice-Minister, as he's my running mate, and we need to consider the implications of changing laws during this, a critical time during my campaign."

She nodded. "Perfectly reasonable. I also recognize that some of these laws might jeopardize your re-election if adjusted before the votes are tallied, specifically the ones affecting marriage and property rights. I'm willing to concede to the idea that if needs be, I can wait until after you're in office a second term for them to be enacted," she stated, knowing it was politic that she show some willingness to compromise during this crucial time in the discussion. To be too inflexible might damage her ability to appear reasonable. Her work in Geneva had taught her the importance of give-and-take.

Draco nodded. "Excellent." He bent to retrieve his attaché so he could put away his notes. "Of course, there is the one obvious, tiny, little, baby hiccup issue of me not being re-elected."

As she was straightening her own notes, she paused. "Yes, that _could _be a major stumbling block."

He held up a finger, as if to emphasize the point. "Especially since my opponent, Rattlebag, is a staunch pure-blood conservative."

She made a face. Simmons Rattlebag – _"of the Sussex Rattlebags – perhaps you've heard of us?" _- had previously been an Ambassador of the British Ministry to the Austrian one before returning to London to take up the post as Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation four years ago. The man was politically slippery, had a glandular problem that caused him to constantly sweat, and was definitely nineteenth century in his attitudes about gender roles. Hermione had had the misfortune of running into the man after a debate he'd brought to the I.C.W.'s floor six years prior regarding women riding brooms. He'd almost successfully convinced the Confederation that witches should only be allowed to ride sidesaddle, "for decency's sake". Thank Godric sanity had prevailed and the measure had been voted down. Still, that such a ludicrous and dangerous idea had made it as far as the voting floor was frightening.

If Simmons won the election and actually became Minister, she could kiss her reforms good-bye. Merlin, she hoped Malfoy won.

"As do I," he stated, and she realized she'd unintentionally spoken that last part aloud. "But it seems that Fate not might be kind to me a second time."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He placed his papers and Quill inside his briefcase and closed it, locking it with a wave of his hand. "I forget that you've only just returned to England. You know I achieved this position by a fluke, don't you?" He was very forthcoming in the question, without a hint of apology or embarrassment.

She nodded.

"Well, it seems my positions since taking The Chair have left me wildly unpopular with the more conservative faction in our society," he said.

"You mean the pure-blood families," she stated, getting right to the meat of the problem.

Draco's head dipped once, and he set his case aside, reaching for his neglected teacup and saucer. Absently, Hermione waved her wand in its direction, warming it back up for him. "Thank you," he offered. "Yes, the pure-bloods are a problem. They're split on the reasons for their lack of faith in me, however. There are the staunch reactionaries whom I will never please – they've flocked to Rattlebag's ticket. However, there is a rather substantial group of younger conservatives, mostly in the realm of fiscal responsibility, who are on the fence about me. They're less concerned with social issues, and more concerned with my ability to budget and organize the government properly."

"They're your Golden Snitch," she intuitively stated. "With them, you win the election."

He nodded. "Precisely. What they're wanting for me, though, doesn't seem likely to happen."

Here it came: his pitch – his reason for pursuing this meeting. "And why is that?" she asked, giving him the pat question she knew he was expecting from her.

He nonchalantly shrugged those wide shoulders of his and took a sip of tea. "Because what they want from me is to show I've got a stable family life – that I'm settled with a witch of good moral character and whose attributes will positively influence my ability to be grounded and deliberative." He gave her a serpentine smile. "I can't very well reassure them with something I haven't got, now can I?"

Ah. Now his reasons became crystal clear.

At first, Hermione was irate at the sexism inherent in his inference, but almost immediately after that thought followed one she'd never have expected: what _if _she teamed up with Malfoy? What would be the worst that could happen? She'd get what she wanted: gender-discrimination laws tossed, a Minister who was aligned with most of her own concerns, and the ability to influence positive change.

On the flip side… this was Malfoy. Their past hadn't been the most amicable, his behaviour during the war had leaned towards the despicable, and he irritated her with his games.

Then again, she hadn't had this much fun sparring with someone since she'd left Geneva. Ron hadn't been interested in discussing anything aside from meal menus, how she looked lying back on his fluorescent orange, Chudley Cannons-coloured bedspread, and if she thought his hairline was receding or not. Draco was charming, amusedly dodgy, and he'd grown into his inherited looks with age. Besides, she'd actually planned an outfit around the man. That had to say something, right?

"What if…?" she began as she rose from her seat, pushed aside her teacup, and perched her bum on the edge of her desk to face him. She stared down into his passive, grey gaze. "What if instead you had a running mate who could bring the exact same attributes to the table, rather than a wife?"

He narrowed his eyes in consideration. Clearly, he hadn't thought she'd catch on quite so quickly, nor offer him a counter-proposal.

She pushed, hoping it wouldn't be too far. "We both know Zabini's good at politics, but from the rumours going around, it's only a matter of time before he inadvisably 'compromises' one of the Department secretaries he's sleeping with – and the scandal will be bad for you."

Her companion's eyes widened and a smirk crawled up his cheek. "Why, Granger, it seems I've completely underestimated your ruthless side."

She waved him off. "Happens all the time. Over the years, Harry accused me multiple times of having been sorted into the wrong House back in school. He says I have very Slytherin-like tendencies."

His lips twitched and he uncrossed, and then re-crossed his legs, seeming uncomfortable in his current seated position. "Is that so?"

She leaned back on the heels of her hands. "What's it to be, Malfoy? Will you change the laws now and add me to your ticket? We both know I'm exactly the kind of running mate you need: my politics align perfectly with those voters you're pandering to, and with my reputation, I can guarantee you the win. We both know that's true."

He put aside his teacup and saucer and stared up at her in serious contemplation. "Not to imply that you aren't more than qualified for the position as Vice-Minister – hell, you're qualified for _my _job - but I think, I'd have preferred you for my wife. Vice-Minister would only be a temporary position, after all."

Hermione's smugness dropped away, and she was left stunned by his brutally honest comment. "You're not serious?"

There was hunger in his gaze as he took her in from the tips of her leather heels to the top of her tightly bound hair. "In this case, gravely so."

When their eyes met, she felt the electricity spark between them. Warmth curled in her belly, enticing and powerful. Her body reacted, slicking and heating.

Godric Almighty, was she really attracted to Draco Malfoy? How could something like that even be possible? He was…

…everything she'd been looking for in a partner: attractive, intelligent, clever, and as she considered him now, sexually magnetic.

But for one obvious, tiny, little baby hiccup, he would be perfect: if he were her running mate, they couldn't be intimate. The voters may approve of a First Lady's influence, but never a husband-wife team in the highest office in Wizarding England. He was her sole ticket to crawling out of the self-imposed exile she'd hidden away in since her return to England, and her stepping-stone to the very top of power in London. If she became involved with him, it would squash her personal career aspirations from a second launch.

On the other hand, if she accepted the offer to be his token wife, she could still influence politics from the background – as her therapist would most likely suggest as the wisest course of action, given her temperament. Her Healer would chastise her something fierce if he knew she was considering re-entering the high stress environment of the political arena, reminding her that the minor heart attack she'd had last year had been her one and only wake-up call.

Hermione wasn't stupid; she knew she couldn't keep burning her candle at both ends as she had been in Geneva. Too much continual pressure might very well spell her doom. It's why she'd taken the quiet law librarian position in the first place.

But she had the chance to effect real change here, too. She could do so much good as a Vice-Minister, perhaps even using it as a launching pad for her own Ministerial bid once Draco decided to step down four years hence…

"You sure, Hermione?" he asked, his tone dropping into a smooth, low sensual murmur. "Last chance. You'd make a hell of a Malfoy."

Staring into his molten silvery gaze, she licked her lips, took a deep breath, and gave him her answer.

_**~FIN… for now~**_

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

**This is as far as I took the story for the fest it was written for. However, I'd really like to know your thoughts, dear readers on which direction you think the story should end. **

**Here are some options I've tossed around in my head:**

1. Hermione becomes Draco's Vice-Minister (Zabini happily steps aside) and they win the election, but they are never romantically involved due to the conflict of interest. Instead, they revamp the Ministry together, re-elected continually because they are such a remarkable political pairing, marry others, and remain lifelong friends who will always wonder, "What If?" every time they look at each other.

2. Hermione becomes Draco's wife, supports his election from the sidelines, and they win. They have a lovely life together, including having a son, but Draco isn't elected for a third term because Zabini's philandering has (as Hermione predicted) caused a scandal and popular opinion moves against them. Somewhat relieved to let the political arena go, they retire to the country, deciding politics isn't for them anymore, and raise their boy out of the limelight.

3. Hermione becomes Draco's Campaign Manager and they win the election. She straightens Zabini up and finds him a nice witch to settle down with so he won't jeopardize Draco's political life. She becomes romantically involved with Draco, they have two lovely children, but her health is very poor because of all of the stress she has put on it. They have ten wonderful years together before her body finally gives out. The nation mourns her passing. Draco stays on as Minister in her honour, re-elected again and again until the end of his long life. He never remarries.

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**Send me a note and let me know if any of those options above appeal, or if you have a better idea. Would love to hear your take on the ending! **

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**Lines from the movie, "Love Actually" that were used in this story thus far:**  
_"I love that word, 'relationship.' Covers all manner of sins, doesn't it?"  
"Oh, no. That is so inconvenient."  
"I'm very busy and important. How can I help you?"  
"I think it's brilliant! It's stellar. Uh, apart from the one obvious, tiny, little, baby hiccup…"  
"Life is full of interruptions and complications."_


End file.
